


The Lone Wolf Encounter

by freckleslikeconstellations



Category: Dracula (TV 2020)
Genre: AU, Angst, Arrogance, Bullying, Caring, Coldplay, Confessions, Craving, Desire, Dog - Freeform, Doubt, Drama, Dreams, Exhaustion, F/M, Fantasy, Fear, Flirting, Fluff, Friendship, Frustration, Getting to know one another, Guilt, Horror, Hospital, Human/Vampire Relationship, Humour, Hurt/Comfort, Impatience, Jealousy, Kindness, London, Loneliness, Low Self-Esteem, Nature, Nudity, Overwork, Pain, Personal Space, Possessive Behaviour, Protectiveness, Recuperation, Rest, Romance, Secrets, Self-Deprecating, Sexual References, Singing, Stress, Strong Language, Texting, Truth, Undead, Whitby references, Wolves, blood-drinking, collapse, crude behaviour, distancing, fangs, happiness, human-animal bond, imprinting references, little red riding hood reference, london zoo, predatory behaviour, rights, sick wolf, sickReader!, skinwalking, suppression of vampire self, tallReader!, torn - Freeform, vampire, vampire myths, wolf escape, zookeeperReader!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:27:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22678708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freckleslikeconstellations/pseuds/freckleslikeconstellations
Summary: After being hurt you shun as much human contact as possible, dedicating yourself to what becomes your passion and your job-caring for the wolves at London Zoo. When one of the wolves escapes and you meet averyfamiliar looking man you could not have imagined the impact it would have on you...
Relationships: Dracula/Reader
Comments: 10
Kudos: 43





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Hi,   
> Thanks so much for your support on my previous stories. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this one and would love to know what you think. :)

You don’t want to tell him that he’s right. _That’s_ one of the first things that you, a woman in your late-twenties, think when you wake up, your throat feeling ticklish and burning you. The second is that you’re an idiot. Your voice feels like it will be hoarse when you speak and you roll onto your side in bed, reaching across to your desk where the small bottle of water that you’d brought sloppily up the previous night is waiting for you. It takes no more than that small amount of movement, however, for your throat to aggravate you enough that you burst into a coughing fit and you abandon the water, feeling quite pathetic. You reach for the water again, your stiff muscles resisting. Your stomach feels like it’s being punched repeatedly. You groan a little and it deepens when your phone, which is situated next to the bottle of water, vibrates with an incoming message. It makes a racket against the wooden surface of the desk and you swipe it up in annoyance, _cursing_ when you see who it’s from. 

**Morning darling. I’ll be heading to bed now, but just want to let you know that I enjoyed last night. My place later? That’s if you’re not too** ill **of course.** He texts in his usual capital letters. 

You can see his smug smile from there, as he arrogantly keeps confidence with the belief that you would be ill the following day, which he’d _started_ to hold the previous night. Unfortunately picturing such a thing _also_ has you thinking about the raven-coloured hair that has been pushed back away from his face, those brown almost black-coloured eyes that had fixed on you so intently the previous night, as they have done throughout _all_ your other encounters together, and had seemed _genuinely_ interested to learn more about you, not to _mention_ the blunted fangs that were hidden beneath his upper lip as his mouth gave you quick and often humorous replies, _always_ pushing the conversation back to you and you doing so just as fast as if it were a game. You smile fondly, despite the fact that you haven’t _really_ known him all that long-ten or so days maybe, it has gone by like a blur-your poor health momentarily forgotten, but then it has been like that all night really-you falling in and out of sleep, hot and uncomfortable one moment and shivering in the next, but temporarily sated and content whenever you thought back to the time that you had just experienced and the fascination that you seem to have with his cold body, which had seemed to _instinctively_ curve towards your warmer one, knees getting closer to your own…You know, as you clutch a hand to your weakened chest and _finally_ have some small sips of your water, that you should be worried about the fact that he is a vampire. _Worried_ that whilst you had been drinking wine [and not the cheap kind] the red liquid in his _own_ glass had been something else, but you feel _far_ too fascinated to feel all that concerned in that moment, despite the fact that you’d been questioning him again about his condition the previous night. You’re worried that he might think your normal human body a little predictable as soon as he finds out that you really _are_ ill, however, and that you won’t be able to provide him with much good company _should_ you meet up even if you would like to do so that night. He’d probably prefer to be with someone else on the whole and you feel a pang of jealousy for a moment. You quickly feel bad for it though. For all you know he _regularly_ brings women back to his apartment. He’s a vampire, a _predator,_ you remind yourself. He has probably just been trying to decide whether he would like to eat you or not and once he realizes how boring you are, _despite_ how certain things in your life might say otherwise to him, you will be dismissed. Deemed not even _worthy_ enough for a vampire’s taste buds. With a sigh now you convince yourself that there is _really_ nothing between you and that you shouldn't even _think_ that there is, as you re-read Dracula’s text, even though the past few days have given you something that you have never had in your life, before you begin to type a reply-something about how you have plans, _then_ because that sounds weak to your mind and like something that he’d _obviously_ see through after five-hundred and twenty-three years on this planet, you opt for admitting that you _are_ ill after all and that he should probably make arrangements _without_ you that evening, before you can’t bear to send it and delete the entire thing, choosing to get ready for work instead. 

It is lucky that you enjoy your job-being the head in charge of taking care of the wolves in London Zoo, being around them and feeding them. _Feeling_ how devoted they have come to be to you and you to them in turn has _made_ you want to go in every day and has kept you fascinated with them over the past few years, just as you are now with your new acquaintance the Count. [He doesn’t _formally_ introduce himself in that way any more, but had told you about the title when you’d asked more about his background and you’d thought that it had suited him.] Thinking of him again now makes you feel sad, as do the wolves somewhat. It is only three weeks since your favourite wolf- _Noir_ -escaped after all. 

He’d come to you just as suddenly as he’d departed-having been found on the beach in Whitby one morning, his dark fur bedraggled and wet from where the waves had crashed over him upon the shore. You’d cared for him and even slept just outside of the enclosure on some nights; having had special permission to do so and to try your _utmost_ to ensure that he pulled through-every animal is precious at the zoo. With a whitish muzzle, pointed ears and _increasingly_ bright brown eyes as he’d started to recover he’d looked at you intensely sometimes and had occasionally whimpered or banged his tail and had seemed to understand what you’d been saying. You’d liked to think that he hadn’t responded to _anyone_ else in such a way, but you don’t know if that’s just some _more_ wishful thinking like you hope that you aren't just _anyone_ to the Count, even after the short time that you’ve known one another for. But _then,_ and when it had all apparently been going so well, Noir had escaped. None of the staff, including you, are aware of _how_ he’d managed to get out. You’d double-checked your counting of the wolf pack and had, had another member of staff do their _own_ tally as well just to be on the safe side. When you’d come up with the same thing a few of you had scaled the perimeter to try and find a gap but there had been nothing visible there and the mystery had deepened all the more. The CCTV footage hadn’t shown anything either, but there had been no sign that a human intruder had, had anything to do with it. Your bosses had hushed the escape up publicly. For the first couple of weeks you’d spent time _dreading_ hearing about an incident and _jumping_ whenever anyone spoke to you or the phone rang. You’d worried that Noir would _either_ be shot on sight or after he’d hurt someone. The longer things went on the less _likely_ there seemed to be the chance of a good outcome if Noir re-appeared and you’d started to hope that he’d fled north and _somehow_ made it to an area where there was a lot of wolves, even though you _know_ that’s probably unlikely to have happened. More than likely he’s wandering around the city and feeling confused. You’ve grown _used_ to the knotted worry that has been eating you up inside ever since Noir has gone missing and with no friends and only an _aunt_ in terms of family, who would _certainly_ not understand the depths of your feelings here, you have found yourself unable to confide in anyone and get any support and accept that, that’s probably at least _partially_ why you are ill now. That and last night’s rainfall, which wouldn’t have soaked you if you hadn’t have stayed so late with the other wolves out of guilt and a need to make sure that they are all right. You feel almost _glad_ for the way that Dracula had found you and invited you into his home, letting you borrow some of his clothes and warm up a little, before you dismiss the thought out of your mind and get on with the day, greeting the other wolves. 

You try to push your illness aside, but the flimsy and last remaining paracetamol at the bottom of your handbag doesn’t do you _much_ good and is barely enough to make your building headache falter in its tracks. By the end of the day you feel like a small pack of wolves are pushing against your forehead and trying to escape. The thought makes you mumble and groan in protest, as well as feel sick about Noir’s escape all over again. You’re slower as you go about your normal duties, which makes you feel grouchy and _more_ irritable too. When you snap in a rather _canine_ fashion at a colleague you feel shame as _well_ as your prickling skin burn you and after quickly apologizing to them you get the rest of your chores done and keep yourself isolated, heading home just as the sun is beginning to set. 

You feel dizzy on the bus ride, your fingers clumsy as they grasp at the handhold to help your balance. You feel your phone buzzing against your hip, but ignore it. If you’d looked at it then you would have read: **No questions for me? You** must **have had a busy day. D.** You usually spend a lot of your lunch time now texting him any questions that you might have thought of throughout your morning and feel _amused_ by the often humorous replies that he sends in turn, all in capital letters of course, as he still hasn't mastered the art of texting yet. It’s a relief to get off the bus [you’d nearly fallen over as it had jerked to a stop] and you try and control your shallow breathing as you make your way home. Your phone goes off. **[The silent treatment now? Or are you going to take** days **to text me back like I’ve heard** some **women now do, as if it’s a game. It’s not and I don’t** appreciate **being kept waiting F/N. D.]** You don’t see that one either. It takes every _bit_ of energy you have just to keep putting one foot in front of the other and to get back to your apartment without fainting, _especially_ since the lifts are out of order and you have to climb three flights of stairs. You fumble and drop your keys right outside the door to your apartment. You curse and bend down. Your phone slides out of your pocket as you do such a thing, but in your foggy state you don’t register it properly and just concentrate on picking up your keys instead. Almost _completely_ unable to see and able to hear your heart in your ears as much as Dracula apparently can with other people’s pulses you find the right key by feeling all the ridges of them with your fingers. You then thrust it towards the lock. You miss and get it on your second go. Feeling relief you push the hair that is sticking to your forehead back. You half-nudge the door open with your shoulder and stumble inside. Dots like bats with their wings curled up hover in front of your face. You take a shaky breath to try and clear them. You think that it works for a moment, but then the last bits of colour fade and you spiral down to the floor. Your bag slips from your arm as you do so and lands with a thud on the floor. _Outside,_ and still in the hallway, your phone buzzes again. **Will be with you shortly. You better have a good excuse for** not **talking to me all day F/N.**

Dracula follows the scent of you to your apartment. He _frowns_ when he sees your phone in the hallway. Not _only_ does he know that it’s yours because, and as he picks it up, he can detect your scent upon it, but because you’d been fiddling with it nervously the previous night when you’d first arrived at his apartment-you hadn’t been expecting to go there that night-and like everything that was connected to you he’d taken it in, in some detail. He’d wanted to throw it away _too_ at some points, the clanging silver lunar key ring that is attached to it getting on his nerves and the black and white photograph of a wolf on the cover of the phone igniting his jealousy, but he’d sensed that it wouldn’t endear you to him and how on _earth_ would he explain such a thing away? If he’d told you that he didn’t want you _looking_ at anyone else but him then that would have probably made you flee from his life for good since you’d been apprehensive enough as it is-more because he is a _man_ than a vampire, he’d sensed. Indeed the vampiric side to him seems to be something that you feel more relaxed with. Your pulse had been loud to him, however, _distractingly_ so, about the other part and he’d had to fight hard against his predatory instinct and to keep his more _charming_ persona in place, not wanting you to be fearful of him because he is a vampire also. _Now_ he can barely hear _any_ sound of your heartbeat at all and that alarms him too, though he feels _glad_ for the fact that his predatory instincts had allowed him to find you in the first place. 

_“F/N?”_ his voice is both gruff and questioning. “It’s a good excuse I suppose,” he says, trying to act casual and not show _anyone_ you _especially_ if you happen to be lurking there, how much he has come to care for you, “You not having your phone on you. Like what you did there darling, but there’s no need to be scared.” He knocks the door open with his foot suddenly and without warning. He hadn’t _detected_ more than one presence in the apartment, but does not want to take any risks or indulge you if you’re feeling childish. The door nearly hits the wall. He sees your feet first and then the rest of you lying face down on the floor, your hair obscuring your face a little. You look like you have been washed up and the sight of you brings the scent and sounds of a Whitby beach all those weeks ago back to him once more. If he _wasn’t_ already dead then his heart would have jumped in panic and he makes his way across to you in a swift, but low and stalking fashion all the same. He is still able to hear your pulse, though it is not as loud as it should be and he brushes some of your hair aside so that he can touch at your neck with two of his fingers and further reassure himself that you _are_ alive. The downside of that is that at the more _prominent_ feel of it and the way that the vibration of it is then jumping both underneath his hand, as _well_ as between his ears, is that the predator inside him threatens to come out again. In front of him is a beautiful example of prey and in a weakened state too, as if someone has just left you there for him, and he looks around worriedly for a moment, but he knows instinctively that there’s no one else there. He’s close to his fangs sharpening and his eyes reddening, before he gets a hold of himself once more and scoops you up protectively in his strong arms. He feels the predator inside him, _when,_ at the hospital, those on duty want to take you from him and he feels initially reluctant to hand you over, desiring to keep you all for himself, but then finally does so at the urging that it is what will be best for you and the reminder that you are human and mortal and no way _near_ as immune to things as he is. He manages to let out a little sigh at watching you slowly be taken away from him. It is only when he can no longer _see_ you that he realizes that he’d managed to cross your threshold without you _even_ inviting him in that night. He feels _awed_ by the fact of it for a moment and wonders what _else_ you might bring out of him if you get the chance to-he suddenly feels an ache from what has happened, and _then,_ both slowly and reluctantly, turns away from the scene. 

*

You slowly grasp onto your senses again and manage to keep them in place enough for you to be able to regain consciousness. You become aware of the light hitting your eyes, but though there is naturally _more_ movement beneath your eyelids because of such a thing you don’t actually open your eyes themselves. You become aware of a rougher hand squeezing at your own. Again you don’t look to see who it is. You can smell disinfectant all around you. The surface that you’re lying on feels somehow soft and unyielding all at once. It is what you can _hear_ though over the sound of the steady heart monitor that you concentrate on the most and come to _believe_ had pulled you right up and out of your slumber. For someone is singing to you. 

“ ‘When the tears come streaming down your face, ‘cause you lose something you can’t replace, when you love someone but it goes to waste, what could be worse? Lights will guide you home, and ignite your bones, and I will try to fix you,’” the voice is low, but riddled with intent. Not sticking to the _exact_ tune either there seems to be so many different genres of music mixed into just those few words. You finally get it-it is a voice that encapsulates time itself. You let out a little breath and the hand that is upon yours tightens, followed by whispered words of encouragement, which you don’t pay much attention to because all of a sudden you find yourself thinking a lot. Dracula would _not_ be familiar with the song-Coldplay’s _‘Fix You,’_ and nor do you think that it is the sort of music that would _usually_ be his preference to sing or hum if he has any, so you wonder what is the _reason_ for the choice now? Had he heard it somewhere? It is _still_ fairly popular after all even though it is a song from years ago and is often used as the backing track on TV shows. Or it might have been set as someone’s ringtone. _But_ -a thought suddenly occurs to you and blocks out all sound and other thought from reaching you-it happens to be the same song too that you’d sung to Noir throughout his recovery, frequently butchered in fact. Hadn't you first _met_ Dracula not long after Noir had gone missing? An idea stirs within your mind. You open your eyes to see that you are in a private room and that Dracula’s pulled a chair right up to your bedside. He’s so close that his knees are a bit squashed and he looks like he’s sitting in a children’s chair with his tall frame hunched over like that. He rubs at your hand even _though_ you feel warmer than him, but you _feel_ the effect that the gesture is supposed to have on you nonetheless and his action creates a spark that sends a shudder right down to your core, _especially_ when his fingers caress against the pulse point that is upon your wrist and you wonder suddenly if he has been feeling it regularly just to comfort himself or if that it just _more_ wishful thinking on your part? He leans forward, moving slightly off the chair now and peers into your eyes with his, trying to _find_ something apparently and he must do for he sits back a moment later, looking more content. He lifts your wrist and his lips brush against it, sending another shiver down you. The idea that you’d had earlier still there, you move your other hand to his hair now. Dracula freezes, as you rub at, part and examine it. It looks so much like _Noir’s_ coat to you in that moment. _Almost_ the exact same shade. The thickness is a little different and it doesn’t _feel_ quite the same you know, _but…_ are you going mad? Did you get concussion when you fell? He lifts his head and you let go of him, allowing your hand to fall back to your side. Your eyes meet. Brown against e/c. You look at him contemplatively, paying particular attention to the shape and colour of his eyes. “You’re Noir aren't you?” you breathe.  
Dracula sighs. He wonders for a moment if he should just be dismissive of the idea, blame it on the state that you’re in, your medication, _anything_ but tell you the truth just in case you should think him weird and reject him. Not want him in your life any more. He _wants_ to get to know you. He finds you fascinating. Fascinating for the fact that you have _so_ little regard for your own life-working with wolves as you do and often putting them before yourself and for the way that you don’t seem to _see_ how you genuinely make a difference and would be missed if you weren’t around-by him at least. He also feels scared by this and scared of being scared and how quickly you have come to mean so much to him. Your _eyes_ though…well, just by looking at them he can tell that you _know,_ simply by his reaction somehow, that the idea you’ve landed on is the right one.  
“Why didn’t you tell me?” you want to _know_ that much at least. You can seemingly _cope_ with the idea that you might have known him previously as a wolf, at _least_ whilst you’re still trying to get some answers from him, but the idea that he might _actually_ care about you and your reactions to him, that you _can’t_ believe and go by just your gut alone. You need evidence of such a thing. “I know that you’re a vampire. You told me a little of your journey here, the ship, how you were basically in a coma for a hundred and twenty-three years”- you have to pause then because your voice can only cope with so many words. 

With a small frown upon his face Dracula rises-unfailingly elegant _despite_ the small space that he has trapped himself into and it suddenly occurs to you that _this_ is what he must have once looked like coming out of his coffin-and assists you to sit up, before he turns his attention to the jug of water that is on your bedside cabinet. He dips his finger with his pointed nail into it and _then,_ and rather tenderly on the whole, dabs at your lips with the water. Thirsty all of a sudden you grab at his wrist when he makes to pull away, _and,_ only half-glancing at him, clean the rest of the water from his fingernail, before you remove it from your mouth with a rather lewd pop that sends your face heating up.

Dracula looks annoyed all of a sudden and you can’t understand _why._ He walks a couple of steps away and keeps his back turned to you. “If you _knew_ how frustrated I’ve been darling then you wouldn’t have just done that.” He looks over his shoulder at you. His eyes are their normal colour and not the red he’s told you that they go when he’s hunting, but there’s something predatory about him all the same. Something that is _warning_ you not to challenge him in that moment. And _yet-_

_“Frustrated?”_ you can’t help but ask him because you want to understand. 

In two quick steps he is back by your side and looming over you, his hand a little rough as it tangles in your hair and tilts your head back. You wonder if he is going to drink from you and feel a thrill about the idea as much as you feel apprehensive about the fact. The sound from the heart monitor pitches. He pushes your head back with an irritated sort of disappointed chuckle. “Don’t need that. I can hear your pulse, even in a place like this, amongst all the others.” His eyes bore a little desperately into your own. 

“You were saying something about being frustrated?” You _know_ that it is probably not wise to push a vampire who has _hundreds_ of years worth of experience being the top predator in the world, but again you can’t _help_ but do such a thing. You sense _how_ important his explanation will be to you and his words are the _main_ thing that your heart is beating for right in that moment. 

“Do you know how _crazy_ you make me?” He pushes his face into yours, a hint of red leaking into the normal colour of his eyes and you suddenly worry that you’ve pushed him too far. Your heart chunters. Dracula pauses for a moment to listen to the sound. His hand, curled up close to the bed twitches and he closes his eyes for one long moment, before he opens them. “I woke after a hundred and twenty-three years, like you have just told me, _because_ of the incompetence of the same people who wanted to experiment on me I believe and who I could make out, thanks to my superior senses and the way that water _doesn’t_ destroy trails for me like it does with humans”-this is _not_ the time to be amused by his moment of smugness and your ears strain to catch every word that he is saying-“Were waiting for me upon the shore. Although it had been a while since I had been active I wasn’t confused, as I'm used to things changing.” You nod. “I was excited, if anything, to see where and _when_ I was, but I wanted to do it on my _own_ terms. I didn’t want these people to capture me unless it was by _my_ doing. I swam further down shore and _away_ from the main threat that I had picked up on, finding a little nook and hiding there, calling a wolf to me-I could have summoned a bat to me I suppose, that would have been simpler, but I wanted something with more power about it, bats are terribly vulnerable and more useful as a distraction tool. I was _hoping_ that he wouldn’t lead those people to me and thankfully he didn’t. I clambered into his body. This is the Noir that you know. I can’t _physically_ become a wolf without the actual presence of one. I felt safer and less vulnerable that way and more able to explore, but the sun came up, not fatal to wolves of course, but I suddenly _realized,_ what with the edge of adrenalin running off, that the wolf I’d inhabited was tired and close to being _ill_ from what I had put it through.” He looks a little guilty in that moment, as if he _knows_ that you wouldn’t approve of what he had put that wolf through, but you have _bigger_ priorities in that moment, such as listening to the rest of his tale. “I’d been so _relieved_ by its presence that I hadn’t properly assessed it, as I usually would if there was time, when it had first come to me. I was trapped. I could not risk climbing out of his body at that point. I _knew_ that I was still being searched for. There was this metal, flying thing in the sky.” You realize that he must mean a helicopter. “Before I could retreat to allow the wolf to recuperate it collapsed upon the sand”-you suddenly remember the report from the person who had found Noir that tallies with what Dracula has just told you-“My spirit was shouting at it to move, but it could only do so a bit, before it fell down once more. I was frustrated when I got caught, but _relieved_ that I was being cared for as a wolf _rather_ than being trapped by the people who seemed to know what I really was. They all seemed to come up to me at once. Did _you_ know that?” You shake your head. “Thankfully the wolf people were not having any of it and insisted on taking me themselves, _declaring_ that there was no proper facility in Whitby where I could be looked after. Then _you_ came along F/N,” Dracula concludes that part when you seem to understand enough. 

“What difference did _I_ make?” you wonder. 

“You were the first person who was kind to me, and not just for a moment, as my initial rescuers were either, but for a long time.” He sinks rather heavily back into the chair that is beside you, before he starts to look, you are sure of it, rather sheepish. “As a wolf I was still, _technically,_ a creature that most humans fear and yet you did not treat me in such a fashion”-

“I’ve been looking after wolves for some years now Drac”- you don’t want him to think that he’s a special case even though he was and _is._

“I _know,”_ he’s tender despite you being dismissive about your care towards him, having predicted such a response, but wanting you to see how much you have had an effect on others as well, “The wolves have spoken _most_ highly of you. They treat you as one of their own. Part of their pack.” You feel even _more_ embarrassed at such a thing. _“Still,_ you were kind to me. Kinder perhaps than most people would have thought I deserved. You did your best to heal me and ensure that I settled in. You sung to me. You _stroked_ me.” You look slightly _mortified_ that you’ve done those things since he’s turned out to be a human after all. _He,_ on the other hand, looks a touch more wicked and flirtatious and buts his head against your hand so that you might pet him again. You push at his shoulder, but then knead at his hair obligingly when he barely budges and it becomes evident to you that he’s not going to give up. He makes a small sound of contentment, brings your hand down again and kisses in the centre of your palm, his eyes lustful and longing, pupils blown when he next looks at you. You swallow, your heart picking up its pace. Dracula smirks at the effect that he’s having on you-your skin feels hotter to him as well-and he studies your palm. You _wish_ that you could see what _he_ can in that moment. “I wanted to please you. I wanted you to pay attention _only_ to me.” He looks at you carefully now, as if he is trying to work out what you are making of his words. You remember how Noir had quite often out paced the other wolves in getting to you first and had once or twice even swung his head around in a warning snarl at them. You’d thought that it had been just about the food and had been on the whole _happy_ that your care had been having a positive effect on him. “I’d never received so much love in any other form before, but I _also_ wanted to escape.” Dracula releases a little sigh. You flip your hand over and grasp at his as tight as you can. He looks surprised, but pleased. 

“I can understand,” you murmur, “If you’d come clean about who you though were then I would have _helped_ get you out of there.”

“You would have _risked_ losing your job for me?” Dracula’s eyebrow rises. 

_“Mm.”_

Dracula looks like he doesn’t know _what_ to think about that. In the end he opts for squeezing your hand and admitting, “Getting out of a wolf’s body is a bit of a mess. It’s something that I would _only_ have wanted my enemies to see. _Certainly_ no one as pretty as you. I'm not so sure that you would have wanted to help me if you’d seen me naked inside the wolf’s enclosure. You would have probably just wanted to get me out of there.” 

_“Oh,_ I hadn’t realized.” You blush and look down. You reach up a hand to toy with your hair, but your IV line gets stuck. The pair of you chuckle as Dracula leans forward to release it. _“Sorry,”_ you mumble, still looking down rather than at him. He runs a hand through your hair for you, before he cups at your chin and tilts it upward, pecking you on the nose. 

“It’s all right,” he coos, _“You_ can’t help it if you find me so attractive. Most people do.” You shove at his arm now and he grins. 

“You were saying?” you try and get things back on track. 

He smiles a little mischievously, _knowing_ that you are trying to change the subject, before he continues more solemnly, “I thought that I wanted to escape, that I _wanted_ to be free, but as soon as I did and I was, it was as if I wanted to climb straight back over the fence again.”

“So _that’s_ how you got out,” you muse, thankful that there’s no chance of the _other_ wolves escaping if that is the case. 

“Like I couldn't _bear_ knowing that the other wolves would have more of your attention now and wanted some for myself.” He locks your eyes with his and you can _feel_ your face flushing with heat, but try to ignore it as much as possible. “It was like I wanted to be your _pet,”_ he admits with a bite of frustration in his tone, “I mean, F/N, look at me,” he gestures to his body now and your eyes can’t help but go to his well-defined chest, “I'm an apex predator. The _top_ of all apex predators. Not _some_ pet,” he says as if he is disgusted with himself.

_“Oh.”_ You’re not _really_ sure what to make of that. Is that his way of saying that he _feels_ something for you? But he’s clearly struggling with something, _so…_

“I thought I might get out of London.” He scrapes a hand back through his hair and you wince slightly at the idea of those long nails hitting his scalp, but like with most things it doesn’t seem to affect him. That’s what’s so strange about all of this though because whatever’s going on here _has_ seemed to have an impact on him. “But whenever I was on the outskirts in a form of a bat this time because the zoo were already looking for a wolf, and I was almost tempted to _let_ them find me in wolf form F/N, but could not risk something going wrong and had already disposed of the _real_ Noir in any case, so they would not have identified me as him, I turned back once more. I _had_ to be near you. So I spent time getting more used to London as it is now. Then I found you and followed you, before I revealed myself to you and then you went out in the rain last night for far too long.” He runs his hands back through his hair. “So _yes,_ I was and _am_ fucking frustrated about the situation F/N because I could have lost you and I’ve had to live off the shitty blood in the hospital because worrying about you has driven me crazy enough that I can’t leave this place for too long.”

“That still doesn’t explain”- you start to re-iterate your point from earlier. 

“If I’d told you that _I_ was the wolf you used to know the _first_ time that we met again then I think that as nice as you are, even _you,_ might have called the mental hospital at that point darling.” You grimace a little sheepishly at hearing such a thing. You’re not sure if you would have gone _that_ far, but you would have probably thought it a good idea to get away from him. 

“So what are you trying to say?” you ask, because you’re still trying to figure that one out. 

“I'm trying to _say”-_ he looks annoyed and like he’d quite like to bite something in that moment. He settles for sandwiching your hand with his and holding them beneath his chin, whilst his eyes look at you imploringly-“That to put it bluntly you’re driving me _insane.”_ You stare at him. “I'm fucking _craving_ you,” he confesses, sounding as if nothing could be worse to him in that moment. You swallow deeply. As if he can’t _stand_ bearing witness to such a thing he tosses your hand back towards you and gets up. “I want to get to know you more.” He swivels to face the wall that is on the far side of the room now. _“But,_ I don’t know where it will lead. The more I know you the more that I’ll want to drink from you”-

“You don’t know”-

“I feel that way already,” he confirms. 

_“Right.”_ You swallow. It is too loud for Dracula and he takes another step away from you. 

“I’ll want to drink you or I’ll want to have you in other ways”-he looks back towards the bed, nostrils flaring-“Usually I wouldn’t fucking _care,”_ he almost whines, feeling sorry for himself and you smile a little at his drama. “But for some reason I don’t want you to end up in hospital or dead because of me and since I’ve _already_ failed at making sure that the first one doesn’t happen I’ll have to try _extra_ hard for the second…” he trails off there. 

“I'm not here because of _you,”_ you tell him, “I'm here because”-

“You overworked and were stressed because _I,_ in wolf form, went missing,” he says to you fiercely. You swallow. You _clearly_ hadn’t thought that one through. He marches up to your bed and pushes his face close to yours. “I'm saying that I _want_ to be around you, but I'm not sure if I _can_ be. I don’t know if I’ll be able to control myself. I'm still a predator after all.” He curls his lip to reveal his sharpened fangs. 

To his surprise, and _although_ your heart skips more inside your chest, you draw closer to him instead of pulling away. You let out a soft sigh that warms his skin, before you but your head gently against his and withdraw again. _Then,_ with your eyes pooling against one another’s and your foreheads close to touching you take the initiative and kiss him. 

Dracula’s initial reaction is to jerk his head back from you and try and get his fangs as far away from you as possible. You tug him by the arm back to you and he emits a rumbling growl, which seems to vibrate right through you and the bed itself, before there is a clashing of teeth and then in the next moment your tongues are colliding as he thrusts his hungrily into your mouth, cradling your jaw with his free hand and almost _whimpering_ in between every move and probing gesture that he is making. His cold ring presses against your cheek and his _hand_ isn’t much better, but you don’t care. You let out a moan. You didn’t know that kissing someone could be like this-you’d consoled yourself about your lack of relationships over the years with the fact that it’s probably not that good anyway. He pushes against you some more, grasping at your breast through the hospital gown. You nudge closer to him, _needing_ every touch and sensation that he can provide, your mind growing hazier, _both_ from the kiss and the fact that a vampire’s kiss not _only_ has the effect of sending a human into ecstasy in the mortal realm, but in the dream one too. In the dream you see him naked, as he would have been in the wolf’s enclosure, a substance sticking to his chest hair-his chest itself is as taut and powerful as you’d imagined it to be previously-from having shed the wolf’s skin. His eyes still brown he looks at you in a predatory fashion, his lip twitching upwards as he assess you, before suddenly he is behind you and pulling the unattractive trousers of the zoo uniform down. He buries himself inside of you. It does not take long for you to be close to reaching your peak, _especially_ when he hunches over you, so that it feels as if he is all around you and bites down _hard_ upon your shoulder. As you come with a cry that has birds flying from the trees, which provide a _small_ amount of coverage around you he whispers into your ear, “Do you see _now_ why I couldn't reveal myself? I can’t control myself.” The words, _‘control myself,’_ echo around your brain until you are taken right up and out of the dream itself. 

You wake with a groan. It is morning. A nurse is fussing around your bed and Dracula is _nowhere_ to be seen.


	2. Two

It is a few days later. You’ve been discharged from hospital and you’re back at work. You hadn’t heard from Dracula initially and it had been up to _you_ to text him yourself. 

_Hey, it’s me. Out of hospital now. I understand what you’re saying, but why are you acting as if it’s all on_ you _to decide?_ [Though you don’t know it that question had made Dracula groan when he’d read it.] _There are two of us here Dracula. You’ve explained to me a bit already. I_ know _what I'm doing._ [They both know that you _don’t.] Even if you end up biting me in the end I can’t see myself regretting to get to know you more._ [You sincerely hope that _no_ one else but him should ever read these texts.] 

_Why the silence? I don’t like being ignored either._ [You’ve since read through the texts that he sent you on the day that you collapsed and went to hospital.] 

_You not going to reply? Or maybe you’re just afraid of saying something that I’ll disapprove of? You’re not a secret chauvinist are you? You can’t_ seriously _think that_ you’re _the one who should be making all the decisions here._

**Honey, if you keep on texting me like that then** I’ll **do something that you’ll disapprove of. And did the term, ‘five-hundred and twenty-three year-old vampire,’** mean **anything to you? I'm not up to date with** anyone’s **rights. I think it’s a myth that people think that they have them in the first place.** He'd texted in his usual capital letters. 

_I could help you with that,_ you put, _At least I’d have you right in front of me that way and at least I’ve got your attention now._

**I heard that it’s** women **who usually get a restraining order against men, but I’ll have to get one against** you **if you keep this up.**

_Before you do you must know that we_ need _to talk._ You’re firm with him.

**I'm a vampire. Talking’s not something that** has **to be on the menu for us.**

_Yet you seem to_ enjoy _getting to know people and talking about_ yourself _in particular._

**Fucking hell. Maybe I was** only **talking because of all the questions you were asking me? Did** that **ever occur to you?**

_You were asking_ me _just as much._

**I'm going to change my number. I mean it F/N. Tomorrow I'm going to get my lawyer to change my number.**

_And what about tonight?_ you put. When Dracula hadn’t replied you’d added, _Your lawyer must be very dedicated to you. First he got me that private room at the hospital when you asked him to and now this._

**How do you even know that he did what you say he did in the first place?**

_I don’t have private healthcare and now that I think about it more clearly_ you _couldn't have done it yourself as you’re not familiar with hospitals in this day and age_ -Dracula had wished that he _had_ been able to do it himself, so that he would have been able to do _that_ much for you- _Which leaves_ him, _unless the hospital gave me a free upgrade?_

**I only asked him to do such a thing because the other people on your ward were getting on my nerves. Don’t think that it had anything to do with you or this is me caring now. I don't.**

You'd been hurt, but hadn't believed him entirely-he'd sat by your hospital bedside after all and _admitted_ how he'd previously been worried about you, even if he was going for more of a predator vibe right then. _Fine, but I'm just saying that_ other _people could be so dedicated to you if you gave them the chance to be and in a more_ honest _way as well._

**I don’t have to guess** who **you’re speaking about,** Dracula had responded in a surly fashion. 

_Let me come to yours tonight. Invite_ me _in for a change. We can talk. Get this all sorted,_ you try and tempt him. 

**I'm perfectly fine.** That’s **what I'm** trying **to tell you. I’ve got an entire** platter **of people to choose from.** The, _‘I don’t need you,’_ part hadn’t been typed, but implied. 

_Don’t hurt me just because you can. Especially when you must know that I'm right, both in what I said before and about us meeting up._ You’d left the conversation there. You’d had good dreams that night, dreams of dancing and laughing in a forest full of wolves. Their amber-coloured eyes had watched from the trees as a dark-haired and _very_ familiar suitor had twirled you around. You feel _sure_ that such dreams hadn’t been just down to _chance_ either. That _he’d_ snuck in and aided you on your quest to sleep well when you _hadn’t,_ for the past couple of days, not knowing how things stood between you or whether they could be good again. The dream had given you hope, but Dracula hadn’t let up. 

**That’s what I do. I'm a** predator **F/N. It’s time you realized that.** His last text to you had been firm but gentle, before there had come the devastating blow of: **I won’t be contacting you again.**

_Not even in my dreams?_ You’d just about found the nerve to ask him, _certain_ now that in his mind that was the _only_ place where he would allow you to meet. Dracula had admired your courage, as _well_ as your irritating ability to see through him when he’d got the message. He hadn’t replied though and you’d regretted pushing him _that_ far when you’d had nightmares-and that’s when you’d been _able_ to get to sleep at all.

_Now,_ and after you’ve just fed the wolves and are watching them from just outside of the enclosure, you do some more thinking about the matter. You _know,_ that for whatever reason, and no matter _how_ short and insignificant this time might turn out to be for the pair of you and for Dracula in particular, what with his immortal life, that there is something binding you together right now. It might be love or maybe just lust and infatuation on both your parts, you don’t know. You _do_ know, however, that _despite_ how big and bad Dracula makes himself out to be there is a more _caring_ and vulnerable side beneath him just like there is to wolves when food isn’t around and they’re feeling safe enough. Otherwise _why_ would he be so bothered and defensive about this? Making your mind up and wanting to _explore_ what you might be able to have, you turn your back on the wolves and walk away. 

* 

After you’ve finished work and before the sun can set you make your way to Dracula’s apartment. _Knowing_ that he won’t be up yet you nervously perform a little trick on the door in order to get the lock to click open, which is something you’d been told how to do by another attendee on an expedition to see wolves in the wild [you’d seen tracks and evidence of the pack, but not the wolves themselves] and which you’ve never used yourself before-nightmare visions of Dracula waking up and being angry enough to throw you out of the apartment without even giving you a _chance_ fly through your head as you do this more than the fear of him tearing you apart and then you’re tentatively pushing the door open. The apartment, lit by candlelight and basked in a purplish glow due to the décor, is eerie and silent. It seems larger without Dracula’s presence filling it up _too_ and you quietly make your way to the bedroom. 

Beneath the dark grey sheets and lighter grey cover Dracula is on his back, sleeping much like he might inside a coffin with his head tilted, eyes solemnly shut and hands making a bulge beneath the covers as they clasp upon his chest. You eye him warily for a moment, not expecting him to hurt you as soon as he should realize that it’s you, but bearing in mind the fact that he is a predator and not sure what he might do if he should happen to wake up in confusion. Will he be hungry tonight? Just by being in the apartment itself though you are putting your faith in him and so you proceed, not backing out of this now. You toe off your shoes, allow your jacket to slide off and fall beside them with only a _small_ amount of noise-in bed Dracula’s ear and nose both twitch, but other than that he is completely still-and creep your way to the bed. You draw back the cover with the least disturbance possible and slip inside the bed. You have barely gotten used to being there when Dracula sniffs again and is suddenly on you, pinning you down. Your breath catches in your throat- _both_ from the way that he is clutching it and from the push of his weight against yours. Turns out that he _had_ heard you after all and you worry now that you have made a terrible mistake. 

_“Drac-_ It’s me-I'm _not_ going to harm you”- _Despite_ your words he squeezes all the tighter at your throat and your eyes bulge. 

“I thought I made myself _clear_ F/N,” he growls, his eyes a little wild and hair askew-it drops over his forehead. He looks as if now you have wandered willingly into his home he might devour you after all. He inhales you. You _know_ that he can hear your quick heartbeat. Out of the corner of your eye his _own_ bleed red and his fangs sharpen. He lowers his head towards your neck, apparently searching for the best place to puncture your skin. You whimper ever so slightly. The tips of his teeth touch, but do not _break_ your skin. 

“Drac-Dracula,” you try to plead with him, “Listen to me”- 

“Don’t _ever”-_ his mouth is suddenly by your ear-“Disturb my sleep again.” You nod tentatively and with seemingly great effort he rolls off you. You release a big breath. On his back again he observes you, before he looks away once more.

You try and find a chink in the ice and some sunlight on the horizon, however, when you say, “It’s good to have me here though, isn’t it? To have someone here when you wake up-it must be nice, now that you’ve gotten over the shock of it all?”

“Think I'm _still_ in shock.” He can’t help but marvel at you-who is this woman climbing into a vampire’s bed? Do you have _no_ sense of self-preservation? Finally he acquiesces: _“Mm.”_ He looks at you, before he rolls you towards him at the same time as he moves onto his side. You feel a little triumphant, but then he says, “As soon as it’s morning I want you to leave and never come back,” for he might be able to resist the temptation for _one_ night, but he _certainly_ won’t be able to if he should find you in his bed again. 

You nearly groan at hearing that, but instead you try and keep things as light as you possibly can by saying, “You’re _really_ going to get a restraining order on me?” You add a pout for good measure when he looks at you. His eyes _flare_ with something dark and dangerous. _“Please_ don’t start that again.” You move so that you’re straddling him, taking the five-hundred and twenty-three year-old vampire by surprise, before he lifts you, swings you both out of bed and dumps you unceremoniously upon the floor. He moves to the window at that point, which the curtains are still drawn tightly over. He pushes one part aside, needing air in that moment _despite_ the fact that he no longer needs to breathe, and gazes unseeingly out across the city and the twinkling lights. 

“I'm only doing what’s best for you,” he grumbles, “You should be thanking me.”

“I _won’t_ be thanking you because you’re only doing what’s best for _yourself.”_ You rise into a standing position and brush yourself down. You are tall, but _still_ horrendously shorter than he is. If he wanted to then he could probably pick you up with one arm and hurl you through the window easily. You wonder how many _times_ London would flash before your eyes as you fell to your death, unravelling from your life like a ribbon. 

_“Am_ I now?” Dracula’s snarl, which he directs at you over his shoulder, gets you out of your thought. “How do you know such a thing?” 

“Because I know how to handle predators, remember?” You go up to him, whilst he keeps an eye on you. You reach a hand out towards him. 

“Not this one you don’t.” He snaps threateningly at your hand, taking pleasure from what he believes is him re- _gaining_ control and chuckling in between each attack. He does such a thing until your knees are back up against the bed. 

_Then,_ and knowing what he is about to do, you dodge as he pounces. He gets a mouthful of the bed sheet and spits it out, flicking his tongue about in a snake-like fashion. You turn to look at him grimly. “You’ll have to move quicker than that old man.”

_“Old_ man?!” he exclaims and you giggle a little. _“Right.”_ Knowing that you’re in for it now you hurry towards the door, but he scoops you up and carries you back to the bed, only drawing you closer to his chest when you flail your limbs, helplessly squealing. He puts you down on the mess of bed sheets and cover and hovers above you, this time nipping at your neck as if to tell you off for the remark that you’d just made. You gasp and writhe beneath him, before he steadies you with one firm hand to your shoulder, being _careful_ not to push his nails in. He manipulates the skin on your neck until a mark blossoms there, and _then,_ when he is a bit rougher than he had intended to be and blood appears there he laps at it excitedly, gurgling and snuffling at the unexpected prize, his eyes turning red and fangs sharpening. You grow rigid and numb beneath him. He is _flying_ through some of your more recent memories-you realizing that Noir had gone, anxiously going to report it and getting another staff member to check with you, the knot of guilt and wondering that had started to tighten inside of you the following couple of weeks, biting your nails to the quick as you watched the news and on and on it goes, your face getting sadder all the while. Dracula retches, not because your blood is bad, but from the strength of emotion that is coming from you and that _he_ had caused. 

“What is it?” You push him off you until you are sat facing one another. 

He waves a hand dismissively and then manages to swallow the final bit of blood. “I have hurt you already.” He turns and attempts to slide off the bed and away from you. 

You grasp at his powerful bicep. “You will do so again, but I don’t mind.”

_“Shouldn't_ you?” He swivels back onto the bed and looks into your eyes with both exasperation and desperation about his face. “I haven’t met _anyone_ like you before.” He seems torn. 

“I feel _just_ as fascinated by you, but it is _more_ than that. I don’t know _where_ we are going to end up, but I”-

_“Without_ you, my dear, as I am _always_ without people like you in the end.” He tucks a strand of hair back behind your ear now, interrupting you saying that you don’t care about how you should die and how you want more than _anything_ to go on this journey with him. 

“Is _that_ it then?” You tilt your head to look questioningly at him. _“Are_ you scared? _Afraid_ of commitment because this is going to be a longer relationship then you just ripping my throat open?”-he chuckles darkly at your words-“But you’ll still, _yes,_ be without me in the end so you don’t want to _bother_ to even get to know me before that point and enjoy the time we _do_ have with one another? Or is the truth more the fact that you are using this as an excuse to break things off with me now because you think that you’ll see, in time, that you _only_ feel what you now do because I offered kindness to you? And I was the first person to do so for such a long time?” In a semblance of honesty Dracula shakes his head, but looks thoughtfully down at the bed cover. _“What_ then?” You slip your hands into his. The coolness of his palms wrap around you and feel _comforting_ compared to the prickling heat that is building up inside of you and your own thoughts, which are making you doubt yourself. It’s not the _first_ time you’ve thought this. Late at night sometimes you’ve wondered…

“I'm afraid that things will happen as they _always_ do.” His eyes meet yours. “I won’t even lose you because of time alone, because you are _mortal.”_ He touches at your hair again, flicking a strand of it away from your neck and gazing at the spot that he has revealed, before he replaces his hand underneath yours. “I _will_ lose control and you will be _gone._ Neither of us destined to ever see the sun again. At the very least something else will happen to you and I won’t be able to stop it because the truth is that I would rather you died than offer myself up to be hurt or killed in turn”-

“I know that though. That is the nature of the predator, _why_ you are such a thing”-

“You might not care much about how this ends and _yes,_ I have gotten used to endings over the life that I’ve had, but I don’t want _this_ to come to its natural conclusion"-

"And it won't. Not yet," you try and plead with him.

_"F/N"_ -he lets out a heavy sigh- _"No_ one has been as kind to me as you have and when you are gone, in _whatever_ way it should happen, then I don’t think that _any_ one will ever invite me in again. Not in the way that _you_ have. My life has re-started with you and it will _end_ with you. That I feel certain of now.” 

“And when other things, times and people have ended what have you done at _that_ point?” you ask him. 

“Talked to people, _fed”-_ his lips quirk up into a wry smile-“And I’ve tried to find a place where I will be welcome again I suppose, which has been a bit _impossible_ considering what I am,” he's self-deprecating. 

“Its happened with me,” you remind him. He doesn’t say anything. “You _already_ know what you have to do,” you tell him, eyes a little damp from the fact that one day you will have to say goodbye to this man and he you. 

_“What?”_ His eyes look curious and as if you might have found a solution to his problem. You haven’t of course, but your solution is acceptance, your solution is-

“Talk to people, because we will _both_ know that you are going to be all right then.” He smiles a little, resigned to the fact that he will lose you one day, but feeling a little better from the comfort that you have offered him. You grasp at his hand and provide him with even more. _“Now,_ we don’t need to worry about that for the moment.” The pair of you smile and Dracula nods acceptingly at your choice of living in the present. You squeeze at his hand, _encouragingly_ this time. If _you_ are not afraid of death or _how_ it should come to you then _he_ will try and be less afraid of losing you. You stroke persistently at his hand, a mischievous kind of smile coming to your lips. 

The vampire’s grin grows when he sees such a thing and then he is over you, his shadow the promise of all things to come, his lips grazing at your skin and sending you into a numb oasis.


	3. Three

**A few weeks later…**

“What kind of child were you?” Dracula asks you suddenly one night when he and you are sitting up in bed. Ever since that time when you’d come around to his apartment you have been _far_ more comfortable with one another and regularly share a bed now even though your sleeping patterns are different. You can’t match his because of your day job and Dracula would _never_ make you give it up for him. He _knows_ how much the wolves mean to you. In any case he _enjoys_ chatting with you and getting to know you in the comfort of his bed or yours-the bedrooms of both your apartment and his have become _both_ of your favourite places to be in-your legs tangling with one another’s. You _always_ flinch naturally when his first touch yours, but soon get accustomed to his cooler body and he _loves_ the feel of your warm body beside him. It reminds him of when he was Noir. You’re like his own personal heater; melting the natural ice that he has to put up with and making him feel human again. Most nights once you’ve fallen asleep he’ll linger around for a while, reading in between watching you. He spends _hours_ looking at your face…

_“Me?”_ you ask. 

_“Mm.”_ He’s been wondering about this a bit of late. He’s sketched in a _lot_ of your current life, but your past history and in particular your _childhood_ are a bit obscure to him. 

_“Oh,_ there’s not much to tell really. I was just the weird kid, but I grew up and am doing what I'm doing. Probably _because_ I was the weird kid actually,” you laugh it off, but Dracula is concerned by your forced off-hand remark and overall vague reply. You can _tell_ that he’s not satisfied and flex your hands a little. “Well, it’s getting late. Probably time for me to get some sleep now. Sorry.” You push yourself into giving him a half-smile and then eagerly turn away and switch the bedside lamp off. You slide down with your back turned to him and get into your normal resting position. 

Dracula peers down at you. Your skin looks cold in the dark and against the cotton grey vest, which you’re wearing to bed. He feels the same now that your legs are no longer around his. He _knows_ that you’re in pain right now. He doesn’t have to see your face for that. People might accuse him of being unemotional, of joking around, even being _disgusting_ when it comes to the pleasure that he knows he has sometimes taken with his meals over the years, but living as long as he has-five-hundred and twenty-three years-you get to _know_ the feeling of pain and what it looks like in others. He has caused it over the years himself. _Now_ he would very much like to take it away. He is _aware_ that you don’t want to talk about it, however, and _knows_ that maybe if you do then this heat that he is suddenly feeling from anyone hurting you or making you feel upset would suddenly spill out of him too, so he settles for scooting down, shuffling behind you and placing a delicate, but firm hand around your waist, letting you know that he is there for you should you want to say anything or just want to lean back and use him for support. For a moment he worries that he’s done the wrong thing and made your body _too_ cold too quickly for he can _feel_ the tremor that runs through you, but then you grab at his hand as he makes to pull away and stroke at it needily, sending a shoot of a protective kind of desire through him.

_“Drac…”_ you say, voice thick with a sob. 

“Whatever they did to you”- he rumbles, unable to contain his anger because this involves the kindest person that he has ever met.

“It was just silly stuff.” You roll around to him, sated in a way because of his anger on your behalf and he cradles you in his arms, eyes seeming lighter than usual because of his concern for you. 

“But it got to you?” he murmurs.

“It did back then yeah,” you reply. 

“Then it’s not silly. 

“Maybe.” You rub at your nose, still not convinced. He holds you close, pulling you flush to him and if you’d been standing then with his strength he would have lifted you in the air. You place a hand upon his chest. You can’t feel his heart of course, but just having your hand on the place where his heart _used_ to be beating, and _knowing_ that it is still there, seems to set off a reassuring chemical reaction inside of you all the same and he kisses at your hair fondly, as he realizes that you are calming down. 

“You don’t have to tell me,” he says.

“I _want_ to,” you reply, “But maybe it would be better if I _showed_ you?” He looks at you curiously, his mind racing. Do you have a video of it somehow? He tries to place your age next to what he has learnt about modern technology since waking up in the 21st century and figure out if it’s _possible_ for you to have done such a thing. You like his thinking face and peck him on the jaw, before you pull back from him. Dracula looks at you in surprise, his hand absent-mindedly going up to feel at your hair and knead at it. “That dream thing you can do? You gave me some good ones when I was still recovering from my exhaustion”-

“As I recall you didn’t take it _all_ that easy. You went back to work straight away,” he reminds you, irritation in his tone. 

You look at him a little guiltily, your hand fiddling with the top two undone buttons of the dark grey top that he’s wearing. He is _aware_ of the fact that you like his chest and smiles knowingly. You desist, embarrassed again, before your face turns more serious and determined. “Could you give me a _bad_ dream? I’ll try and focus on what I want you to see, so you don’t have to search for it as much. You said that, that works yeah?” He nods, looking at you apprehensively. “And anyway,” you go on without properly thinking about what you are saying, “It should come _pretty_ easily to me after what we've been discussing tonight.” He looks sad for a moment and you realize what you’ve done. “I didn’t mean it like that,” you tell him.

“I _know.”_ He sighs. 

You can _tell_ that he feels uncomfortable about doing this, but you push him anyway. _“Please?”_ you urge. “Just for this once? It’s easier if you see.” You worry that he won’t get it or maybe will even think you pathetic otherwise. 

“All right.” He looks at you seriously.

_“Good,”_ you are relieved now. “It’s probably best that you know that I _used_ to be friends with these four girls, but that I didn’t have many people like that _or_ have a very large family around me and after my-well, after the dog that I grew up with died when I was twelve they turned against me.” Dracula stiffens a little. Of course he is a little _biased,_ considering he loves you so much and he has seen _much_ worse things over the years, but the mental cruelty of what those girls had done to you at a young age…“They seemed to think that I was taking too long to get back to normal,” the vampire growls a little, irritated on your behalf, “And so they started to… _well_ it’s probably best if you see it, but they started to bully me essentially and I decided at that point that I preferred animals over humans. You could say that my obsession with wolves began then.” Dracula _also_ understands it to be the cause of _why_ you doubt yourself so much and had taken so long to believe in the possibility of his feelings for you. 

_‘Ready?’_ he mouths when you fall silent and that seems to be the only thing left to say. 

You begin to repeat the word in turn, but he’s kissing you with so much tenderness and encouragement, before you realize that you’re back there again. 

You’re walking home from school. This is the other girls _favourite_ time of day to target you apart from when they have a big audience and there is no teacher around at school. They’re already high from eating sweets and fizzy drinks post-lessons and some are _still_ doing such a thing as they chase after you. You’re walking quickly, but feel _determined_ not to break out into a run. Your aunt, who you had grown up with-Dracula can _feel_ the resistance in you sharing any more with him at that stage about the death of both your parents and how you had come to be with your aunt and _knows_ that, that’s a memory for another time-had told you that, that’s what they are waiting for. Your dark blue jumper and grey skirt with every other pleat _also_ in a dark blue along with white socks are a little rumpled as they are a _lot_ of the time by this point, your long hair a little undone in its ponytail. Dracula thinks you look magnificent and he can see the woman that he _knows_ lurking inside of the teenage girl, not quite ready to come out just yet. You can’t sense his presence and your mind is on the four girls that are behind you. They care about make-up and popularity it seems _more_ than anything else these days-things that you couldn't be any _less_ bothered about-but you wish that they’d leave you alone to get on with the things that you _do_ like. You hitch your green rucksack higher on your shoulder. You’re growing breathless from the anticipation of what might happen, but you’re _still_ a long way from home. You try and quicken your pace in spite of yourself. _That_ doesn’t surprise Dracula-you’re _always_ pushing yourself when you shouldn't be, that’s why he takes so much pleasure from you sleeping and from _knowing_ that you’re getting the rest that you need. You trip over suddenly, scraping your uncovered knee and unfortunately giving the girls a chance to catch up with you. Three of them get in front of you, forming a half-circle and look back. 

“Oi, Little Red Riding Hood!” Thankfully Dracula is familiar with such a character, though something in his chest _rumbles_ crossly at you being called such a name, _knowing_ that it is not a compliment in that moment. 

“You going to fuck your dog’s grave now?” The worst girl-ironically the one who you’d used to be closest to-says from behind you. She mimics the act of mating, which causes the other girls to laugh. 

You feel sick and like crying as she dry humps you, but can’t seem to move and are frozen there for a humiliating few minutes, before suddenly the girls that are in front of you start pointing to something that is behind both the girl and you with a look of abject fear upon their faces. 

_“What?”_ the crude girl asks, _obviously_ upset not to be the central figure of attention any more. 

The girls don’t need to answer her for suddenly there comes a growl. Your former best friend and you both scramble to your feet. You feel _just_ as afraid of the dark-haired wolf that has somehow come onto the scene as _she_ does-you might have a growing fascination with them, but this is _still_ a wild animal after all. It looks at you though, just for the tiniest of moments and you feel a strong and sudden shift in your emotions. For there is _something_ about its brown-coloured eyes that reassures you, that tells you that it is on _your_ side and you have the weirdest feeling that this is the _most_ important wolf that you’ll ever meet, though you don’t know _how_ you know such a thing. Message relayed to you it turns its attention back to the others who the crude girl has now joined. The wolf takes a protective step forward to cover you and snarls _until,_ with uttered shrieks and confusion, the girls all flee, a couple of them looking back as if to check that what they've just seen is _really_ still there. You feel braver for a second and even manage to wear a half-smile upon your face, before the girls disappear completely. You make to look at the wolf questioningly, but the wolf has now gone. 

In its place is the most _beautiful_ man you’ve ever seen-he could be an angel, but there is a hint of devilry within him you sense. He turns to you and you realize suddenly that he’s _completely_ naked. The same brown-coloured eyes scan your face in concern, before they _quickly_ turn more predatory and teasing as he realizes that you’re no worse for wear and as you take him in. His eyebrows lift as if to ask if you like what you see? His strong shoulders are pale, but his chest is dark because of the fine hair that’s coated there. There is also a sticky substance upon it like glue because of the fact that he’s just shed the wolf’s body. It lies at his feet, still twitching a little, before it stills. You don’t feel put off by it, however, _nor_ by the man who is without any clothing before you, for he feels oddly familiar to you and you step forwards, being careful to avoid the wolf’s body with your feet and cup at the man’s cheeks. 

_“Drac?”_ you whisper, but it is enough for him to smile at you and _realize_ that the consciousness of your past has caught up with your present one. 

He extends a hand as you lean back. “Come with me,” he orders. 

With a bit of a smile upon your face you take his hand and suddenly the pair of you are running down London streets. You feel more carefree the further you go, ageing and becoming naked yourself, until you hear what could be a morning bedside conversation between Dracula and you from the present day: 

“Are you _sure_ about this?” your voice asks him a little nervously. “I don’t want anything to go wrong.”

‘Darling, I'm a _vampire.”_ You feel him touching at your hair in the present, _awed_ as ever by the concern that you hold for him. “Not much can hurt me. I have a special relationship with wolves, _remember?”_

You put your faith in him and suddenly, in the dream, the pair of you are slowing down. You are outside the wolf enclosure at London Zoo. No one seems to notice that you are _there_ as you as you fiddle with the lock of it, _nor_ the fact that _neither_ of you have any clothes on _despite_ the fact that other people are all around you. Dracula _is_ shielding you a bit with his own body though, not wanting other people to see what’s _his_ even in the dream. You take one last look at him over your shoulder. He nods in encouragement. You enter the enclosure.

The wolves approach you both, sniffing and assessing, before they thankfully seem pleased to see the pair of you and you let out a breath of relief at the fact that they _hadn’t_ mauled Dracula. He touches at your shoulder with a smile, before he slips his hand down into yours. 

You are running again, through the trees of the enclosure, before that space opens out completely and becomes the side of a mountain, which Dracula, the wolves and you all run down laughing and whooping. Dracula and you are now fully clothed once more. A forest is behind you. More mountains are off in the distance. The sky might be overcast, which is presumably _why_ Dracula can be out in daylight, but you have never felt this happy. Never felt this free. You can’t see an _end_ to the nature that is all around you and you take joy from the wolves who gallop about and on occasion jump and embrace you, smothering you with a lick or two, before they head off at a run again. To be sharing it with Dracula as _well…_ you exchange a toothy smile with one another. He is your _everything_ in that moment. 

You wake, feeling just as happy as you had in the dream.

“I _had_ to intervene,” Dracula smiles a little guiltily at you at the same time that you blurt out in a gasp, “I love you.” He looks taken aback in that moment and you kiss him _fiercely,_ not _caring_ what those girls would say now if they knew about you being with someone like Dracula. He is more important to you than those silly girls from your past. All that matters is his happiness and maybe your _own_ a bit now as well. You forget however what will happen by kissing him and as you slump against him he holds you to him, curling his fingers around your shoulder protectively and _still_ with a look of the utmost shock upon his face. How has he convinced this wonderful human being to love him? He _knows_ that you won’t be able to hear him, but can’t help but whisper, “My darling, I love you too. _Forever,”_ he vows, his eyes glowing with happiness in the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed the ending. :)


End file.
